Bleeding for a Prince's Game

I leaned against the headboard, staring into the darkness all night.

At five in the morning, the rusty iron door shrieked open.

Heath stumbled in, reeking of cheap tobacco and stale blood. His left leg dragged stiffly behind him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his face a mask of exhaustion.

The moment he saw me sitting on the bed, his expression softened into one of gentle concern. He limped over, squatted in front of me, and took my hand.

"Why are you still awake? Didn't I tell you not to wait up?"

He pulled a cheap, crushed cupcake from his jacket, offering it to me like some grand prize.

"Saw this on sale at the convenience store on my way back. Happy third anniversary, Holly."

My eyes fell from the pathetic cupcake to the collar of his shirt, just visible as he squatted.

The metallic smell of blood couldn't quite mask a cold, distinct perfume. It was Isabella Ricci's signature custom blend—I’d seen her flaunt it on social media.

On his neck, a crude, roaring wolf head—the Ricci family crest—had been hastily inked over the 'H' tattoo he'd gotten for me.

I pulled my hand from his. My fingertips were ice-cold.

"Wasn't there a turf war?"

Heath's eyes flickered. He managed a weary smile.

"The Capo saw my leg was acting up and let me go early. What, you were worried about me?"

He reached out to touch my face. I turned my head away. He froze, his hand hovering in the air between us.

"I was downtown on an errand today. I passed the Valachi family's club," I said, my eyes locked on his, searching for any crack in his facade.

Heath's pupils constricted for a split second. But he recovered quickly, even letting out a theatrical sigh.

"A place like that… it's another world, Holly. I'm sorry you have to suffer with me. Once I save up enough this month, I'll take you somewhere nice, I promise."

His act was flawless. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would still believe he was the man who had sacrificed everything for me.

I stood up, walked to the sink, and splashed cold water on my face. The icy shock cleared my head.

"Heath, do you ever regret it?" I asked, my back to him.

He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I'll never regret it."

I looked at his deeply affectionate reflection in the grimy mirror, and a wave of nausea rose in my throat. I shoved his arms away.

"I'm tired. Let's just sleep."

Heath stared at my cold, rigid back, his brow furrowed in confusion. But he didn't press, just dragged his supposedly lame leg into the tiny bathroom to wash up.

Over the sound of running water, I reached into the pocket of the jacket he’d thrown on the table.

My fingers closed around a crumpled receipt.

The Royal Palace. Total: $5,000,000.

I slid the receipt back into his pocket.

The next morning, Heath changed into his faded street clothes, ready to leave.

"Holly, I'll try to pick up as much work as I can today. I'll bring you back some roasted chicken tonight." He waved from the doorway, his smile bright and guileless.

I watched his limping figure disappear around the corner, then closed the door, my expression hardening.

I dragged a suitcase from under the bed and began to pack. There wasn't much. The most expensive thing I'd bought in three years was a discounted lab coat.

I left everything that reminded me of him behind. The butterfly knife he gave me. The cheap photos we took in this very room.

Before leaving, I tucked the receipt from The Royal Palace under the glass tabletop.

The lock clicked shut. Three years. Over.